


Won't Realise I'm Gone

by osmalic



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-16
Updated: 2009-12-16
Packaged: 2017-10-22 00:43:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/231774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/osmalic/pseuds/osmalic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every month, Narcissa visits her sister in jail. She's the only one who sees how much Bellatrix has changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Won't Realise I'm Gone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scarletladyy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletladyy/gifts).



> For HP_HolidayGen 2009.

The room only has two doors on opposite sides—spanning from the floor to the ceiling. The handles are not ornate, mere brass lines now worn with touches over hundreds of years, but they are laden with magic older than most of the occupiers of the prison tower. The room itself is non-descript: a window facing the west where the sun is shining beyond the roaring spray of sea waves.

In the middle of the room is a wooden table: the kind that Narcissa would never buy for her own home. Like everything in Azkaban, it is worn but functional the varnish already faded. Two simple wooden chairs are on both sides, and Narcissa sits on one of them, waiting for the other person to arrive. The floor is made of uneven stone, and the last time she had been here, Narcissa's heel had caught between two cracks and she stumbled. Luckily, she managed to catch the edge of the table, the smooth wood grinding into her palm as she righted herself. No-one had seen. Now, she wears her sensible flat shoes.

Bellatrix is composed when they bring her in, head held high, her hands on her sides. Her prison dress is drab and grey—just a sack, really, but she wears it with pride. The guards accompanying her look suspicious, their eyes taking both of them in stock. Narcissa doesn't care. What is important is that her sister is here, and there are no Dementors hanging about.

"How are you?" Narcissa asks immediately as soon as the door closes. "How are they..." She purses her lips, starts again, "You look better."

Bella sneers, "Better than the last time you saw me?" She looks out the window, and there's a longing in her eyes that Narcissa knows she cannot hide. "Have you talked to the lawyers?"

"Lucius is doing all that he can," Narcissa starts, but Bella only hisses.

"I know that the Malfoys cannot risk dipping their fingers into our affairs," her older sister snaps. "He's still protecting his own neck, saving his own family."

"You _are_ family," Narcissa tries again.

"No," Bella interrupts, looking spiteful. _"You_ are all I have now, Cissy. And you're the one who's going to help me. Tell me, have you drawn the papers? The Blacks always have representation. Have you spoken to them?"

Narcissa nods. Of course, Bella doesn't mince words—she has no use for lies now, and the only comfort she needs are those that will release her from this prison. "I have talked to McKinley," she says. "They're willing to represent you, but it will be hard."

Bella nods, and her eyes cast towards the window again. "I expect nothing less," she says. "The property...?"

"All taken care off, hidden," Narcissa replies. "The ones still under our name will not be filed under your husband's name, nor Lucius'."

"What of Andromeda's Mudblood husband?"

Narcissa shakes her head. "They will not get any money," she assures her.

"Good," Bella says approvingly. "She will be _begging_ us for money when I leave this place. Just you wait, Cissy. Just you wait."

It's been ten years since Andy left home to live as an out-cast with her Mudblood husband. It's going to a year since Bella first entered Azkaban.

And still, Narcissa still comes.

* * *

"Does Lucius know?" Bella asks her once.

Narcissa stops her task of arranging the papers on the table, but she doesn't look up when she finally answers, "What should he know about?"

Bella gestures around the room, as if there is anything more interesting to see than her and the documents on the table. "About me," she says. "Your visits here, is it a secret? Do you tell him you're out shopping when you're here, talking about lawyers?"

"Lucius knows I'm trying to help you," Narcissa tells her evenly. "Come, sit down and look at these with me. I've reviewed the comments—"

"He doesn't know, does he?" Bella asks softly.

Narcissa scowls down at the documents before she smoothens her coat "Bella, dear," she coaxes, "please. Please, sit down."

Bella does, but she continues to stare at her, untrusting. Every month, it seems like something is disappearing from her, the things that made her into Bellatrix Black. She used to smile charmingly, her face sharp and angular but with the hint of childishness. It's the mischievous glint that all Blacks inherited—even Andy. And Sirius. Now, Bella's eyes are haunted and grey. "What have you got there then?"

"McKinley put together all these clippings and interviews that directly state you as the instigator of..." _Torture,_ the word is at the tip of Narcissa's tongue, but she doesn't state it. She continues on, "They all implicate you, but these are the words of known followers of Voldemort. None of them are from the victims."

"That's because the victims are dead," Bella tells her bluntly.

Narcissa's lip draws to a thin line. She continues on as if she has not heard, "Look here, there's a statement from Severus Snape...and there's Karkaroff..."

"Lucius' too," Bella says softly, keeping her eyes on the documents.

It gives Narcissa another pause, but she cannot resist an apology falling from her lips, "He had to, Bella. Draco is barely two and..."

Bella only waves her words away. "Family is more important," she sneers.

Narcissa reaches out to grab her sister's hands, holding them between hers. Bella's fingers are cold, her fingernails lined with dirt and matted blood, but Narcissa tells herself she doesn't care. She has to believe her sister will leave this prison one day. "Family _is_ important," she tells Bella firmly. "That is why I'm here, and why I'm not giving up on you. Remember when you said you followed the Dark Lord because he offered you a brighter future? I'm here now to give you something _better."_

Bella's eyes shine with tears, but she doesn't quite meet Narcissa's gaze. "Of course," she says, and dries her tears. "Show me the other statements."

* * *

The next time they meet, Bella strides around her allowed perimeter inside the room while Narcissa takes out more documents and photos. She allows her older sister to expel some of her energy, but it takes time. Like a caged animal, she sniffs the window bars, kicks the large doors that expel an angry rapping from the other side in response.

"Now, see here," Narcissa begins, "if you look at—"

"How is Andy?" Bella interrupts, pacing the room. "Is she happy with her Mudblood family? Is she dying from the traitorous blood in her veins?"

Narcissa looks at her, shocked. "No-one is dying—"

"She _should,"_ Bella hisses, making Narcissa blink. "She should be _killed_ for what—"

Narcissa stands up so abruptly, her chair slams unto the stone floor. She stares at her sister in shock. "You said you forgave her," she says shrilly. "You said...she will come around, that the Mudblood man has probably bewitched her, and she'll be back, but you _forgave her—"_

It had been a sunny afternoon, Narcissa remembers, when she and Bella had received the letter from Andromeda. Their sister had told them about her small cottage, her pregnancy, the spells she uses to raise her garden herself ("Without House Elves!" Narcissa had whispered in awe.). She never wrote about her husband, and Bella had taken it as a good sign. ("Remember the Prince family?" Bella told Narcissa triumphantly. "One of the daughters who married a Muggle never spoke about her husband, and they later learned that she was miserable. Andy will be back soon.") It had been a good day—not one of the best days in their lives, but it is certainly a happy memory.

But now Bella says, "And where is she? In her cottage with her ugly husband, her back turned against her family? Andy never wanted to return!" She spits out the nick-name as if it repulses her.

For a moment, there is silence inside the room as Bella resumes her pacing. There is a muffled sound of someone screaming, _"No—get away—Noooo—"_ before there is silence.

Narcissa watches as Bella mutters to herself, hands rubbing over her shoulders, as if she needs warmth. She tells Bella, "I don't know. I haven't heard from her."

"When the Dark Lord comes back..." Bella starts.

Narcissa gathers the documents and slips them inside the envelope hastily. She has tears in her eyes. "The Dark Lord is dead," she chokes out. "He's not coming back, Bella!"

"And neither is Andy," Bella spits back.

Narcissa is already at the door, ringing the magical bells that signal her release. She can hear Bella calling for her from behind, _"Wait, Cissy, I shouldn't have, please—"_ But she doesn't listen. She doesn't turn back.

* * *

She returns two months later, her bag carrying shrunken documents that she lays on the table silently, even as Bella walks in. At the corner of her eyes, she can tell how her older sister fidgets, her eyes darting from one thing to another, as if she cannot keep still. Her shoulders twitch uncontrollably, her legs jumping at every slight sound.

Finally, Narcissa says quietly, "I've gone through all the documents with McKinley and he can argue for insanity in your case, but we simply..." She stops, but resumes stiffly, "Your outburst in the courtroom last week was a step back. I shan't lie to you."

"It's the Dementors," Bella says, a slight hitch in her voice. "They...everyday, they sweep through my cell and I cannot..." She pauses.

Narcissa looks up, and she feels her heart harden. "You mustn't let it get to you, Bella."

"I try," her sister bursts out. "They look and reach inside me, probing each part and finding every happy thought—and they _suck it._ They kiss it away, and their lips make me feel dirty, make me feel _unclean_ as if I can never be happy—"

There's a lump in Narcissa's throat. "You were happy once," she assures Bella.

Bella only nods, but her eyes are trained towards the window where the cold rains and high waves slam against the glass. "I know that," she says wearily. "But how can I know that? All I remember now is you coming here to visit me, and sometimes that makes me happy, but sometimes they twist it so I'm angry. Yet somehow, they won't touch the memories of the Dark Lord in my brain as if..."

"Have you told this to the Ministry of Magic?" Narcissa asks in alarm. Keeping the prisoners still under-going trial in the presence of the Dementors may affect their subjectivity. It makes sense! Narcissa knows that Bella has always been one of Voldemort's most loyal followers, but even loyalty has to end somewhere. Surely—surely someone will see that her sister is growing insane in this prison, making her seem more dangerous, more rabid.

But Bella shakes her head and meets Narcissa's eyes. It's the first time in so long that they look at each other, and Narcissa is shocked to see how sunken her sister's eyes are, how pale her face is. Her hair is tangled and wild, her lips chewed and bloody. And her eyes—a year ago, her eyes were clear, but now there is a glint of madness lingering there.

"It will not make a difference," Bella says, and it's almost a moan. "I only have the dark memories to accompany me! I feel no happiness! Cissy, not even with you in this room!"

* * *

When Narcissa comes back only three weeks later, Bella's neck and arms are bruised, and Narcissa will not be surprised if she finds more underneath her sister's clothes. "What have they done?" she whispers.

Bella only laughs, spins around the table. "I did this," she sings. "I did this, and it felt _glorious!"_

Narcissa's heart sink and she tries to catch her elusive sister, to hold her in her arms. She pleads, "Bella, you _must_ fight it! We'll get you out of here, and you'll be fine again—"

"The Dark Lord will come get me," Bella tells her. Eyes catching, she stops abruptly, only to catch Narcissa in her grip. Her fingers around Narcissa's wrists are tight. "He'll set me free, and he'll see how happy I have made myself to prepare for his return—"

"Do you remember me?" Narcissa asks desperately. "I'm your sister..."

Bella pulls free, and her face quickly transforms to exhaustion. "I can never forget you," she says. "You visited me most and believed in me most, even when McKinley advised you I'm a lost cause. I'm a lost cause, aren't I, Cissy?"

"No, Bella..."

Bella kneels down and Narcissa ignores the cold, dirty floor and sits next to her. "You mustn't hurt yourself," Narcissa murmurs, stroking her hair. "It's not true happiness. What's happiness is being here with me, remember? Oh, Bella, you _must_ strive to remember?"

"I can't," Bella whispers. "Do you think I shall ever be truly happy again?"

Narcissa's heart clenches. "I don't know," she answers truthfully.

Her sister—her older sister, so composed and so ferocious—begins to weep. Her shoulders quiver, her eyes shut. She puts her head on Narcissa's shoulder and clenches her dress. "Please take me away from here," she whispers. "Cissy, I can't stand it. I know you must hate me—"

"I can never hate you," Narcissa soothes.

"You must," Bella cries. "Oh, you must! All I can remember of you is that time your dog died and I laughed, and you were so angry at me. Andy was furious. You never spoke to me, and I was so sad. That's my happiest memory now. Soon, even the saddest memory will be my only joy. Oh, _Cissy."_

"Hush," the younger Black sister whispers to her sister's ear. Her fingers comb through Bella's matted hair, tries to smoothen it. She rocks Bella on her lap, whispers poetry of laughter and joy. She tells her stories that Bella had told her before: Bella's seventeenth birthday party with her stunning white dress, dancing with their father during her wedding night, the first spell she did without wandless magic, getting an O in her DADA class.

She stays for a long time, tells Bella many stories, but Bella only weeps and rocks on her lap, as if she doesn't hear.

* * *

"You mustn't come here anymore," Bella tells her a month later.

Her speech is slurred, her body hunched. She sits at the corner of the room ever since the guards brought her in, and she hasn't moved since.

Narcissa shakes her head, not looking up from the documents on the table. She pretends her sister is fine. "Nonsense," she says crisply. "Now come here and see what I wrote. McKinley says we can't challenge Snape's statement, but if we go after Karkaroff's—"

"Cissy," Bella interrupts, and it's the clearest word she's spoken in months. "Cissy, it's time you stopped."

Narcissa looks up sharply. "We are doing no such thing," she retorts. "We've had great progress, and McKinley is—"

"I meant _you,"_ Bella interrupts wearily. _"You_ must stop. The trials are ceasing, everyone is going back to their lives."

"Bella, _no,"_ Narcissa says desperately, and she flips the page to another. "McKinley is a fool to think we cannot challenge the idea of using Dementors on people still under-going trial. You'll be a fine example, and if we attack the system through this—"

"Sirius," Bella says suddenly.

Narcissa pauses and she looks up. "What did you say?" she asks after a long silence.

Bella shrugs. "Sirius Black. I've always made fun of him, always lambasted him in the Great Lord's presence..." Her voice turns dreamy, soft. "...but then we learn he's actually one of the Dark Lord's most loyal servant. It makes me _itch,_ to think that the Dark Lord holds him such high regard." She laughs, sharp and pointed, short. "And he's at his best behaviour right now. Moreso than I. Cissy, he's a _model prisoner."_

"So what?" Narcissa bursts out. "We've always known Sirius loves playing pranks—"

"He's not affected by the Dementor's Kiss," Bella tells her patiently. "I doubt he'll ever be. He goes about in his day as if he's back in Grimmauld Place or...or reliving his glory days in Hogwarts!"

Narcissa's heart sink. "So...it means..."

"No," Bella tells her, full of love and desperation. She walks away from the shadow, takes small steps towards Narcissa. There are tear tracks on her cheeks, and there is a mournful look in her eyes. "Sirius endures Azkaban with a smile on his lips for the greatness he has done for the Dark Lord...while I weep and try to hold on to my happiest memories! It is a great disservice."

"Bella, _no,"_ Narcissa almost moans.

"You mustn't come here anymore," Bella repeats, and now there is a big smile on her face, a rosy colour on her cheeks. She looks flushed, high, _happy._ "When the Dark Lord returns, he'll see I was loyal. More loyal than Sirius. And I will endure this _for him._ It will be _glorious!"_

She laughs while Narcissa cries, tears dripping over her cheeks, unto the folders and folders of documents she has prepared for naught. In a small room in one of the towers of Azkaban, two Black sisters ignore each other, too wrapped up in their emotions—and two very different worlds apart.

* * *

"How was your walk, dear?" Lucius asks her when she arrives home.

Like the other days, she opens her mouth to tell him, _I visited my sister. She doesn't want to leave. She wants to prepare for Voldemort's return, and she's never leaving prison._

Out-loud, as always, she says, "It was fine." She almost walks past him, but she stops, doesn't turn to her husband. "I think...perhaps, I will take my walks within the garden. It wouldn't do to leave Draco with his nanny all the time."

"That's fine," Lucius replies vacantly, and only rustles his newspaper.

Narcissa nods and leaves the room, but she catches her husband's reflection on one of the magical globes on the fireplace mantles. She cannot be sure, but she thinks Lucius is wearing a smug smile.


End file.
